


And Be Forgiven

by dalish-ish (elavellan)



Series: Immutable [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Andrastianism (Dragon Age), Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, Free Marches (Dragon Age), Lyrium Addiction, Mage Rights, Mages and Templars, Minor Character(s), Moral injury, Multi, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Survivor Guilt, Templars (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-11-23 18:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18155759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elavellan/pseuds/dalish-ish
Summary: The Templar Order has fallen, its leadership all but destroyed. Most of the surviving templars are young and unranking: all, however, are conscripted into the Inquisition.Ser Delrin Barris finds himself unexpectedly at the fore of the Order as it rebuilds under the auspices of an organization that claims to have a divine mandate. He's glad to have the help of his friend Ser Belinda Darrow as he leads troops against demons and struggles with the follies of mankind.Although he does wish she'd take the whole thing rather more seriously.





	1. The Smallest of Deeds [Prologue Part 1]

Though stung with a hundred arrows,  
Though suffering from ailments both great and small,  
His heart was strong, and he moved on.

—The Chant of Light

Belinda Darrow was a woman of faith.

It was the foundational truth of her existence. She knew the Maker was real, and she knew He was good; she knew Andraste was their savior, and she knew that somehow, someday, everything would be all right. And yet, when she saw the sky tear itself open...

That flicker of doubt hadn't even put a pause in her step. Not when there was so bloody much to be done. And then, when Andraste herself guided a tiny elven woman from the ruins of Her sacred temple, Belinda's faith was rewarded all over again. It was real, it was all real, and that woman was there to lead them out of the darkness.

Or so Belinda hoped.

Maker forgive her, though, she didn’t like Val Royeaux. It reminded her of the worst parts of her upbringing in Starkhaven, without any of the charms that city held for her. Instead of beautiful carved granite, the statues were cheap gilding over rotten wood. Instead of massive, sturdy structures that inspired her with the solemnity of Andraste’s grace, the chantries here had colorful facades over timbered interiors that just seemed all wrong.

But she didn’t share any of these thoughts with her companions. She was here for the Inquisition, and their cause was righteous, and no amount of Orlesian folderol would dampen her spirits.

 

* * *

 

 

Three months later

 

"Knight-Lieutenant Peral?"

Ser Delrin Barris, erstwhile knight of the now-defunct Templar Order, didn't need to check the list spread on the desk before him. He could recite just about the whole grim manifest by heart. "Deceased."

"All right. What about Knight-Corporal Tannan?" The commander of the Inquisition forces stood hunched over the other side of the desk, tapping his fingers erratically against the inlaid surface.

"Missing. Presumed deceased."

"Damn." Cullen straightened and rolled his neck. The man seemed incapable of sitting down. He might have maintained a strict military posture in public, but behind closed doors, restlessness permeated his every movement. "It's not enough. Hardly any of the Therinfal templars have real leadership experience. The bulk will need to report to our lieutenants. Will they?"

"They'll do as they must, Commander."

"Honest opinion, Barris."

"They won't like it. Not all of them. But you don't need me to tell you that."

"No." Cullen turned to look out the narrow window behind the desk. Far below, hardly visible to the naked eye, lines of soldiers trained on the edge of a glacial lake. "Any suggestions? Concessions we could grant with a minimum of fuss?"

Barris had been expecting this question, and answered without hesitation. "Better housing. Overcrowding in the temporary quarters is a popular complaint. Dedicated meal times, perhaps. And a common space apart from the rest."

Cullen leaned away from the desk and crossed his arms, fingertips now tapping his metal vambraces instead of the desk. The faint, repetitive pinging would have driven some men mad. "I don't want them isolated from the rest of the troops any more than they already are. They need to feel a part of the Inquisition."

"Not isolated, no. But a space that's their own within Skyhold."

“I'm less concerned about the expense and more about how it'll look to the volunteer soldiers if we give our conscripts special treatment. You've been talking to the Inquisitor, haven't you?”

“No, ser. She's been talking to me." Barris grinned. "She's very... inquisitive.”

For the first time in the hour he’d spent in the man’s company, the commander’s expression lightened. “She is that. All right, Barris, I'll take your advice into consideration. That's all for now.”

“Ser.” He saluted and stood. “Thank you, ser.”

“You don't have to thank me.” Cullen rubbed his temples. “If anything, I should thank you. What a Maker-forsaken mess this all is.”

“You won't hear otherwise from me. Maker go with you, Cullen.”

“And you.”

He went out by the door to the gatehouse, passing a cluster of people in wildly varying armor. One of them turned to him as he passed. “Afternoon, Barris,” she said cheerfully. “Why the long face?”

“Only one I've got, Darrow.”

He kept on going. Skyhold was a maze he hadn't half explored, but he knew the stairs that led down to the training ground were through the other gatehouse tower.

Belinda Darrow pulled away from her companions and trotted alongside him. She flipped a red plait over one pauldroned shoulder with an impatient movement. “So are we getting a tower of our very own?”

“Have you ever lived in a tower? They're not all they're cracked up to be.”

“Well, we're at Skyhold, and what says Skyhold if not stairs? I think they add charm.” She gave him a toothy grin. 

“They add defensive capabilities and permit more efficient use of space.”

“Heavens, Barris, you're worse than Lysette.”

“Very likely. You're not the only one who wants that tower, though. Briony’s been pushing for it since we got here.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and turned round the corner to the new sparring ring. The ground was a bit muddy, but as dry as they'd likely find after the Bloomingtide rains.

The ring was empty. The only other person in sight was Seeker Pentaghast, who appeared to have a personal grudge against one of the pells behind the tavern. Inexplicably, someone had left an empty mug squarely in the middle of the ring. They both eyed it, and then Darrow picked it up and set it on the windowsill of the armory.

“Up for a bout with someone who knows what they're doing?” she asked him.

“Maker, yes. I've been training the Inquisition recruits all week.” Barris winced.

“I heard they were coming along nicely.”

“It's true they're doing well, all things considered, but it'll be a while before many of them are up to the standards of the Order. I just hope they live that long.”

“Let's have at it, then.” She grinned.

Darrow was possibly the sunniest person he'd ever met. Certainly the sunniest templar. But she was damn good with a longsword, and he was glad her practice weapon was blunted when it glanced off his armored thigh.

“Maker's breath, you're fast!”

“Yes, I know!” She giggled. The merry sound was unexpected coming from behind that winged helm, but it suited her. And it was certainly more pleasant than some of the things he'd heard from behind similar helms.

He feinted left, and she countered easily. He raised his shield just in time, but then dropped low and went for her feet. She yelped and darted back.

“I’m glad for all those footwork exercises now,” she called. “Almost got me there.”

A few people had stopped to watch them spar. People in the Inquisition seemed to find it fascinating to watch full templars train, somewhat to Delrin's dismay. Sweat began to drip into his eyes and finally he held up a hand to pause. “Oi, Darrow, let's lose the helms. But go easy on my tender skull, would you?”

“I thought you'd never ask.” She pulled her own helm, her normally pale cheeks flushed with exertion and strands of red hair clinging to her sweaty forehead. “Just let me… Andraste's nostrils, I've lost my pins again.” She lifted muscular arms to tie her tangled mane back into some semblance of order.

“Isn't all that hair more trouble than it's worth?”

“So I've been told. I should… there we go.”

“As you will. Just keep it out of your eyes so you can see. I don't want to hurt you.”

“That's perfect! I don't want to hurt you, either. Lovely day, isn't it?”

He shook his head in disbelief. She was _sincere._

But she was a good fighter, no doubt about it. They circled one another slowly, watching for openings. She lunged first, going for his leg; he parried. They anticipated one another’s movements with the familiarity that came from a shared school of training.

At last he called, “I think we've impressed the masses enough for one day.” Darrow nodded brightly and they set down their swords just as a passing mage sent a look of disgust their way.

The templars' eyes met briefly.

Well. Perhaps “impressed” wasn't quite the right word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short introduction to our pauldroned protagonists!
> 
> This will be shorter than my other fic... I think... but will take us along on Barris's series of quests to redeem himself and the templars. Stay tuned for, you know, plot. ;)


	2. The Smallest of Deeds [Prologue part 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is really the second half of the first chapter. I will likely go ahead and combine the two at some point, with apologies for any changes to the chapter numbering. (New fic growing pains!)

VAL ROYEAUX, THREE MONTHS AGO

"This is bullshit," muttered the man at her side. "Justinia would never have stood for this."

Belinda didn't answer. She was awestruck by the sight of the Grand Cathedral. Now this was more like it: a grand courtyard and a solemn edifice with colonnades like the cakes Lady Dunnett always had at her daughters' birthday parties. Or she had always had them back when Belinda still received such invitations. The Dunnett girls were probably all hosting parties of their own by now.

Less awe-inspiring than the cathedral were the mercenaries who stood by the gates, eyeing the Inquisition troops with all the enthusiasm you'd expect from a crowd seeing their hope of a fat purse go up in smoke. Their armor was as mismatched as their weaponry. A more makeshift assembly was difficult to imagine. Professional, certainly, but not the sort of _professional_ Belinda associated with the Chantry.

One of the mercenaries, presumably a commander, stepped forward. "Inquisition," he snapped. A pronounced Orlesian accent, a truly ridiculous mustache—was that even real? It looked as if he'd glued a squirrel to his face. Belinda swallowed a chuckle.

But her laughter dissipated when the Orlesian reached for the hilt of his sword. "We've been hired to protect these bloody clerics, and that includes from the likes of you."

"We're affiliated with the Chantry!" said the man at Belinda's side, frustrated. "The Inquisition formed by the orders of the Divine—"

"The Divine is dead."

It still hurt to hear those words. Belinda had met Justinia exactly once, but she'd been bowled over by the woman's wise demeanor and kindliness of spirit. Surely the Maker had his reasons for everything, but—it hardly seemed fair. They'd come so close to having peace. Closer than Belinda could remember since before the disaster in Kirkwall.

"We've got her Right and Left Hands, a former commander of the Templar Order—"

"The templars are gone, man. Why do you think we're here?" The Orlesian snorted. "And you may have the Hands, but we've got all the sisters. _And_ their coin. So I can tell you now that unless you turn back and march back out those gates, there's going to be trouble."

"Even the Chantry's gold won't last forever," said Belinda. "Are you so devoted to this cause?"

He turned to her, looking as baffled as if one of the feral cats that strolled the courtyard had spoken. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Ser Belinda Darrow of Starkhaven."

"Powerful family," said one of the mercenaries unexpectedly. "Did a job for them once. Don't want to burn any bridges. Watch it, Ben."

Belinda nearly gritted her teeth. Was she never to be allowed to make her own way in the world?

But she only smiled brightly. "Oh, surely it won't come to that. We all have the Grand Clerics' safety at heart, don't we?"

 

* * *

 

SKYHOLD, PRESENT DAY

"How many in total?"

"A dozen. Did you have anyone in particular in mind? I can't spare any of the veterans, obviously. Otherwise, take your pick."  
  
Barris's thoughts flicked back to a spar in the courtyard the other day. A good fighter, and he'd heard good things about her actions in Val Royeaux. He could use that sort of competence. "Can I have Darrow?"  
  
Cullen frowned. "I think so. Let me check." After flipping through the papers in his desk, he nodded. "She should be back in Skyhold well in time for your departure, and I've no plans for her after that. You don't want Lysette?"  
  
Maker, if that question wasn't a kick in the teeth.  
  
He had, once, very much wanted Lysette. If he was honest with himself, he still did. But she'd turned him down and that was that. It wouldn't be appropriate for him to command her, in any case. "No. And I don't want Gallifort, either. Not on a mission like this."  
  
Cullen snorted faintly and drummed his fingers on the desk. Mattrin Gallifort was a competent enough templar, but not an especially pleasant individual. "I'd suggest some of the Starkhaveners, but most of them are with Rylen. You could have Sal..."

  
It wasn't long before Barris had a roster in his hand. His first command in the Inquisition—or ever, really. He'd led men before, but only in a crisis, when _someone_ had had to take the lead in the interests of everyone's survival. And he'd been reasonably successful on both occasions.  
  
He just hoped he could do the same thing on purpose.

—

 

“Darrow,” he called. She did stand out from the crowd.

“Hello, Barris.” She smiled, that toothy grin that seemed her default expression. How could one person be so bloody cheerful all the time? “What’s the news?”

“I need you to come to Val Colline with me.”

She tilted her head, squinting in the sunlight. "If you’re asking to elope, I’m sure we don't need to go that far.”

“Very funny. Here—marching orders. And can you drop off this potions requisition at the apothecary? I don't think the fellow likes me much."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not—wait, you mean the old apothecary from Haven?"

"Yes, why?"

"Well, you wouldn't expect he'd want to be chums, would you now?" She chuckled, and then her broad grin disappeared at his look of confusion. "Oh, Maker, I've done it again. I'm sorry, Barris, please don't listen to my nonsense."

He stopped walking and gave her a hard stare. "Ser Darrow, why in the name of the Holy Bride should the Inquisition apothecary know who I am, let alone give a damn?"

"Belinda. And, well, he's with Lysette, don't you know?"

Barris felt rather as if he'd been punched in the stomach, but all he said was, "I see. Right." He shouldn't be so taken aback. It wasn't as if Lysette didn't have every right to go and be with whomever she liked. There were more important concerns to occupy his thoughts.

"Oh, I am sorry, Delrin." Darrow laid a hand on his arm. It might have felt patronizing from someone less earnest, but she met his eyes with level sympathy. The woman was as tall as he was. "You must really have cared for her."

He shook his head. A brief dismissal, not a denial. "No matter. I hope she's happy."

"That's good of you."

Not especially. Not when envy gnawed at him.

_"Templar! What is Envy?"_

_"A coward, brother!"_

He'd made enough mistakes already. That one, at least, was behind him.

“So,” said Darrow, that smile spreading across her face again like the sun. “When do we leave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note about names.
> 
> There's a lot of inconsistency in how Dragon Age handles surnames. I won't go too deep into explanations here, but for the purposes of my fic, I've headcanoned that templars are generally Templar Firstname (thus, Knight-Captain Cullen or Knight-Commander Meredith) but noble characters are often referred to by their family names instead (thus, Knight-Templar Barris and Knight-Templar Darrow).
> 
> As far as my characters are concerned, Belinda tends to think of herself as Belinda, so you'll see that in her internal narration. Our intrepid hero tends to think of himself as Barris in work settings and Delrin in personal ones, so there'll be more variation depending on context. 
> 
> (And do let me know if you want to hear the full expository ramble. Because I can... do that too.)


End file.
